


Dead Weight Known as Roy Mustang

by Ranowa



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Maes Hughes Lives, Multi, OT3, Sickfic, roy can not take care of himself, this pairing is my secret life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 21:59:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13304157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranowa/pseuds/Ranowa
Summary: It is a travesty of astronomical proportions, Gracia determines, that her husband is in the hospital after being shot, and yet his best friend has somehow stressed himself into an even worse condition trying to find his attacker.She’d have been lying to say she hadn’t signed up for this, though.





	Dead Weight Known as Roy Mustang

**Author's Note:**

> ...what don’t judge me AUs where Maes lives are my canon and OT3 is my guilty pleasure leave me alone ;_; even though i Can Not and Should Not write romance and have other fics I really should be doing here is this thing anyway. *pokes title* idk what that's supposed to be *pokes it again* he's not a dead weight i swear i love him

When Roy woke up, he did not have the slightest clue where he was.

Which was, quite undeniably, a very bad sign.

He blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling, something like unease spiking through him to pierce the haze of lethargy that had consumed his sleep. Dreams still clung to his mind like cobwebs and he shuddered violently, pushing away the remnants of an empty phone booth and a silent phone call as he narrowed his eyes, fighting himself back towards the present. Where...? The lighting was dim. The bed felt too big, and the blankets, too soft. Too warm. He blinked again, starting to grope blindly as he tried to shake off the lingering vestiges of sleep.

He stopped, when his hands met a mess of hair, and one tiny palm resting on the side of his arm.

Ah.

Elicia Hughes.

Clarity flooded in.

Roy carefully stopped his fidgeting, dropping his hands as gently as he could back down to the bedspread to try and keep Elicia asleep. He held perfectly still this time as he turned his gaze around the room, breathing in deeply as he slowly absorbed the facts of his suddenly new situation. Maes and Gracia’s- and, sometimes, his- bedroom. He recognized it perfectly now, and part of him wondered unsettlingly at how long it had been, for him to ever have not recognized it in the first place. Too long. Not since Maes had been...

Roy swallowed tightly, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. How had he ever gotten here in the first place? He’d been at the hospital... Maes had been asleep... and...

And _what?_

He clenched his jaw, fighting to keep the frustrated breath contained and his body relaxed. He honestly could not remember. He couldn’t remember what had happened last night. Last he knew, he’d been sitting in his best friend’s hospital room, trying to work through the files he’d taken with him, the files he’d been too busy searching for Maes’ would-be-killer during the workday to have taken care of- and now suddenly, he was here? He didn’t even remember falling asleep... _certainly_ not in this bed.

Certainly not with Elicia completely unconscious next to him, either.

Roy had a sneaking suspicion this was all Gracia’s fault.

Speaking of which, he could currently just hear the sounds of movement and cooking from throughout the apartment, and could only surmise their resident schemer had left him here alone to make breakfast. He glanced around the dark room again, this time in search for the alarm clock, then found himself having to swallow a curse when _7:07 AM_ blinked back at him. Any longer and he would’ve ended up late for work- his alarm at home was set for six thirty, for god’s sake. He was sure his neighbors were quite thrilled at him today.

Sighing heavily, Roy turned his attentions to Elicia, who was currently still fast asleep by his side. She was mostly over her mother’s space, spread-eagled over the still warm impression in the sheets, but one little arm lay over his, fingers just touching his stomach. _Well, you’ve faced worse challenges, Colonel..._

Carefully, he reached over with his non-captive arm, gently slipping his hand around Elicia’s as he started to lift it off. He went at the pace of a snail, inch by careful inch shifting Elicia back into her own personal space, holding his breath as he started to transfer her hand from his side to a pillow.

A little frown creased her forehead and she mumbled something, mouth grimacing. With a protesting sort of sigh, Elicia squirmed closer, hand falling stubbornly out of his to land on his stomach again- this time, even further over than it had been before.

Roy glared at the ceiling.

_Okay... try two..._

“All right...” he began in a very soft whisper, not enough to wake her up but hopefully something that just might get through to her subconsciously. “Now, I know you’re happy, and you can sleep all that you like, but, Uncle Roy’s got to go to work now... so, let’s just...” Gingerly, Roy touched her hand again, awkwardly trying to shift one of his fingers under her smaller ones.

This time, it was a veritable whine of protest, and instead of an arm draped further over his stomach, it was a head firmly making his arm into a pillow.

Roy glared harder at the ceiling.

“You planned this,” he muttered out loud, scowling. “Didn’t you, Gracia.”

He wasn’t certain, but he was pretty sure the continued noises from the kitchen didn’t count as an answer.

  
by the lovely [maeshughesofficial](https://maeshughesofficial.tumblr.com/)

Resigned to his fate of interminable waiting, Roy turned his gaze back towards the ceiling again, absentmindedly letting his hand fall to rest on top of Elicia’s. Gracia would have to come back in soon, after all- by the sound of it, she was making breakfast, and she wasn’t the type to let it go cold just to allow a man to sleep in. He surely only had a few minutes before his new prison of this almost criminally comfortable bed was breeched, but when that happened, he wanted to have a firmer grasp on just what was going on here and how on earth he had gotten here last night.

Hospital, with Maes... paperwork... paperwork... watching Maes sleep... stewing in guilt... paperwork...

Then _what?_

Roy let out another frustrated sigh, shutting his eyes. It was just a fact that he did not remember. Completely blank, in between him sitting in that hospital room and waking up here. He was almost tempted to say his spotty memory was from something like a head injury, and he was actually forgetting a lot more than just a car ride from the hospital to here- but his head didn’t really hurt, not anymore than usual, nowadays... and anyway, that was just so improbable...

From the kitchen, there was another clatter of metal and metal, then the sound of the sink running- and then, footsteps. Sighing again, once more resigning himself to his fate, Roy pried his eyes back open to watch as the hesitant, quiet figure of his best friend’s wife emerged, first sticking her head around the door to see how they were, then shifting to stand fully in the room once she’d seen he was awake.

“Well,” she said softly, soft enough to not disturb Elicia, not soft enough to stop him from hearing the note of knowing sass in her voice. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

He raised a bemused eyebrow. “Thank you, but there’s no need to flatter me. I’m not a beauty until I’ve brushed my teeth, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, I know- I wasn’t talking to you.” She gave him a pointed look, then her slumbering a daughter a fond smile. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” she said again, to Elicia, then frowned back at him. “Good morning, bull-headed idiot.”

“That’s more like it.” Roy gave her another sly smile, but inwardly, his tired, overworked, broken brain was racing. So she _was_ annoyed with him, then... probably related to whatever reason he had for just not managing to remember how he’d ended up in her bed last night. Not so annoyed she wanted him out, but definitely annoyed enough to want it to show. God, he hoped he hadn’t done anything inappropriate or untoward- Maes would murder him. “So... I-“

“Breakfast will be ready soon. In the meantime, looks as if you’re stuck in bed,“ she smiled wickedly again, “so just take it easy and sleep for a few minutes, and I’ll come get you two when it’s ready. Whatever you do, do _not_ get up until I’m back, do you understand me?”

Roy grimaced, giving the alarm clock another surreptitious glance. “Gracia, though I appreciate the gesture, I have to leave soon for work.” Voice still hushed, Roy again began to carefully sit himself up right, trying to not dislodge Elicia. “I don’t really have time for anything more than a cup of coffee...” Gingerly, Roy made another attempt at moving Elicia’s arm off of him, already starting to sleepily categorize the taxi ride from here to HQ and how much time rushing to meet all of his upcoming deadlines was going to take. It was going to be rough, but he’d manage, he always did, and then he could start hunting for Hughes’ attacker again-

“It’s Sunday, Roy.”

He blinked again, staring blindly at the ceiling.

Sunday?

...oh...

After several uncertain moments, he cleared his throat again, trying to hide how much the realization had surprised him. He’d just lost track of the days, that was all, but if Gracia realized she’d be a lot more concerned than he deserved, and she had _enough_ to worry about nowadays, anyway. “Y-yes, well, I still have quite a lot of work to do, and-“

“-and Lieutenant Hawkeye has already been informed of your situation. She’s promised to take care of all of tomorrow’s deadlines, and that if I somehow don’t manage to keep you here, to lead you back out of the office at gunpoint.” This time, the wicked smile was even more pronounced, and the fierce light in her eyes was one that told him this battle had already been decided long before he’d ever even woken up. “So, I really see nothing for you to do but stay put. All right?”

Roy stared blankly, feeling rather out of sorts and definitely outmaneuvered, _and_ absolutely uncomfortable to suddenly learn he’d been discussed behind his back. He opened his mouth again, trying to come up with something to say- all right, Riza was helping out, but he couldn’t leave her to it alone, and there was still so much to work to do on Hughes’ case- but if Riza was conspiring against him again, he had to think of a way to get around her- damn it, then-

“All right!” Gracia finished cheerfully, still a hushed whisper for Elicia’s sake, gave him one more stern smile, then turned her back on him and left him alone.

With Elicia still on top of him, and most definitely not going to move any time soon.

Once again, Roy glared.

The women in his life...

Shaking his head, Roy very carefully began to push himself upright again, this time not trying to get out of bed but at least sit a little and clear his mind. He did feel better as soon as he was vertical, though no less confused, and he glanced reluctantly down at Elicia again. What was going _on?_ Waking up in the Hughes’ bedroom like this... Gracia, annoyed with him for some reason... not to mention, Riza actually conspiring to get him _away_ from work? Something was going on, something he wouldn’t like when he found out about it, he was sure of it...

But _what?_

Roy frowned again, rubbing his forehead unhappily as he listened to Gracia. This just felt wrong. Lying in bed early on a Sunday morning, wonderful woman in the kitchen making him breakfast and a wonderful little girl sleeping next to him in the remains from a family sleepover- yet the woman was his best friend’s wife and the child was most certainly not _his_ child. He was just the interloper in their marriage, by any definition the mistress, but like this he looked like he belonged. _He_ looked like the missing husband and father.

Something in Roy’s chest clenched, and he stared miserably down to the messy blankets, suddenly fighting with a growing lump in his throat.

That was what he looked like, here. That was what he was being treated like. But he _wasn’t._ That was Maes, and Maes _wasn’t here._ No- no. Instead of enjoying his Sunday morning with his _family,_ where he belonged, Maes was in the hospital. Instead of eating his wife’s breakfast he was probably working his way through hospital slop right now. Instead of being pampered (like Roy _didn’t_ deserve), he had nurses prodding at him, sore and exhausted and in pain, and he was _alone._

This was the kind of morning Maes would’ve loved, he thought with an almost agonizing pain to his chest. He’d lived for days like this- the kind of days he’d really had in mind every time he’d told Roy to get himself a wife. Maes would’ve practically been beside himself, _so_ damn happy, and he would’ve made it worth it for his family, too, showering Gracia with thanks and love and carrying his daughter to the breakfast table on his shoulders... when Roy was just probably going to manage an awkward smile and an overly formal thank you.

Maes would’ve loved to be here. He would’ve been so _happy._

But he wasn’t.

He hadn’t been here in two and a half months, and _it’s all your fault, Roy._

Carefully, gently, he touched a hand to Elicia’s, slowly enough to not risk waking her up. “I’m so sorry, kid,” he muttered, allowing himself one awkward, uncomfortable stroke of her hair. “He’ll... he’ll come home soon. I _promise._ ”

Elicia didn’t answer him, still completely asleep next to him, and Roy once again fought back the mournful misery in his throat.

_I’m sorry, Maes..._

True to her word, it didn’t take long at all for Gracia to return, this time at a brusque pace and a business-like smile, and there was no hesitation as she flicked the lights on and flooded the room with brightness. Roy couldn’t help but wince, squinting at the sudden glare, but Elicia was already squirming awake, muttering unhappily at the light. “Mom...?” she coughed, voice thick with sleep.

“Good morning!” She joined the two of them on the bed, sitting down on his other side to pull Elicia into a hug, kissing her forehead. “How’d you sleep, baby?”

Elicia made a noncommittal sound in her throat, apparently not really awake enough to answer, then looked up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Do you feel better, Uncle Roy?”

He blinked, startled. “I... yes?” _Not a clue what you’re talking about, actually..._

Gracia gave him an approving smile, and Elicia beamed as well. She looked to be about to ask him something else but Gracia pulled her into a hug again, hands shifting to be ready to lift her off the bed. “Just what I told you; all he needed was a good night’s sleep. Now he’s about right as rain- but I bet he’s very hungry, isn’t he?” She shared a conspiratorial sort of smile with him, and Roy blinked.

Utterly befuddled and with no idea what he was _supposed_ to say, Roy just started to stumble out with the truth. “Ah, well, actually-“

“I bet he’s all set to devour all of breakfast- you’re going to have to move fast if you don’t want to starve, Elicia!”

Ah. Roy’s uncertainty faded, and he returned Gracia’s wink with a grateful smile of his own as Elicia suddenly scrambled, pushing at him to get free as she dived towards the end of the bed. “I’m going, I’m going, Mommy!” The blankets ended up all a kicked mess and one pillow descended to the floor, but Elicia, not one minute ago a fast asleep little six year old, was on her feet and out the door so fast she was almost a blur, leaving Gracia chuckling behind and Roy, unerringly grateful, slumped in bed.

“Thank you,” he said, a little weakly.

“It’s not a problem,” she told him warmly, still half-shadowed in the doorway. “I figured it would be best for us to talk a little, before you decide you’re ready to crawl on out and face the day.”

“Thank you,” he told her again, crossing his legs and valiantly biting back a jaw-cracking yawn. _God,_ he was still so tired. “Gracia, I- not that I don’t appreciate the hospitality, because you know I do, and I really don’t mean to-“

“You don’t remember how you ended up here, do you.”

Her interruption, steady and not unkind, was not very patient with him, here.

Roy winced, his own cajoling, hopefully persuasive smile dying. “...No.”

His best friend’s wife graced him with a tired sigh, fatigued eyes downcast as she dropped quietly to sit at the foot of his - their - her bed. There was silence for several long, heavy, almost uncomfortable moments, and it was the hesitation in the way she wouldn’t look at him now that first tipped him off that this was not going to be something that he wanted to hear.

“It’s a little unclear,” she decided at last, frowning, the welcoming cheer in her eyes from before all but gone as she at last met his gaze again. “All I’m sure of is I got a call from my husband, around eight last night, to come collect the dead weight known as Roy Mustang from his room.”

“His words, I’m sure,” he inserted on reflex, tossing out the obligatory reply before he could actually process what she’d said. He’d... passed out in Maes’ room?

“Oh, yes,” Gracia said, nodding, this time smiling a little. “He said he hadn’t tried that hard to wake you, but was still a little concerned, given how deep you were out- you seemed closer to unconscious than asleep, and were still that way by the time I got there.”

“Oh- Gracia, you shouldn’t have-“ His face heated up and Roy scooted forward on the bed, reaching out an apologetic hand before he really even knew what he was doing. _“Maes_ shouldn’t have. He should’ve just woken me up, you- you didn’t have to-“

“Roy Mustang, I was able to get you from his room, down to the car, up to my apartment, and in bed, all evidently without you waking up enough to remember. Our choice was between admitting you for tests and leaving you to wake up in a hospital room, which we both _know_ you would’ve hated it, or for me to get you back and take care of you here. Now I think we both know which option you prefer, but don’t think I won’t drive you right back down there and have you admitted for exhaustion if you start to try and complain now.”

Her eyes flashed dangerously, hands pushing herself up half-off the mattress as if to make her point, and in one moment, she transformed into smiling, kind housewife into his most dangerous nightmare.

Roy gulped, sinking almost meekly back against the next of pillows, and managed to tilt his head in a single nod. Because she most certainly was not exaggerating- he knew _that_ one from experience.

“I... really do hate it when you full name me,” he answered at last, somewhat pathetically, probably, but with another weak smile so she knew he was submitting to her authority here.

Gracia grinned back, relaxing back down to the mattress now that it was clear he wasn’t going anywhere. “So does Maes. That’s why I do it- it’s quite effective.” Nodding to him again, she pushed gently off the bed, this time just rising to stand rather than to force him back down. “Take your time getting ready. It’s Sunday, so you have nowhere to be- put on something comfortable of Maes’, and for god’s sake, do something about your hair. There really is plenty to eat, but if you’re as sick as you seemed last night- well, I’ll understand if you’re not interested.” She moved backwards to the door, watching him with almost unnaturally sharp eyes, hand lingering on the doorframe as she went. “Regardless, I’m taking Elicia over to a friend’s house in a little bit- we can talk more then. Okay?”

Somewhat befuddled still, Roy only managed to give her a weak sort of nod after several moments, mostly just lost on everything that was going on. He was definitely a least a little relieved that this was all he had to do to put Gracia at ease, his best friend’s wife leaving him at last to sit alone in the too big bed, shivering slightly and a little more than slightly lost. Talking with Gracia really hadn’t clarified as much as he’d hoped it would, but at least it seemed she was going to give him a little bit of time to himself, to straighten his thoughts out and work out what he was going to say.

If only he could just remember going to sleep the night before...

Roy, as (possibly disturbingly) comfortable as he’d been waking up in his best friend and wife’s bed, was able to at last extricate himself from it in short order. The sight of himself in the bedroom mirror was almost too humiliating to face, and he turned away from it quite quickly; he was still in uniform, sort of, the jacket and skirt missing but at least Gracia had stopped at unbuttoning his shirt. But his state of dress was so disheveled and wrinkled it might as well have been last week’s pajamas, and the face adorning it had done him no favors. He looked as tired as he always did, which, given that he’d just slept what, twelve hours? was most likely not a good sign, eyes sunken and skin so pale he did Maes to shame. His hair, too, looked as if it had taken a lesson from Maes’, with one treasonous clump sticking straight up out of the mess on his forehead.

If this really was how bad he looked, he honestly couldn’t blame Gracia for being concerned.

Fixing his hair quickly proved to be a rather fruitless task; Roy just turned the sink faucets on full blast and dunked his head under the resulting spread, soaking whatever unfathomable patterns had set into it over the night to ruin. It was still a mess, but a dripping mess was more salvageable than bed head.

Roy made himself impeccably sure to focus on his hair in the mirror, and not his hollow face or impossibly drained eyes.

Hunting for something to wear was even more difficult. Roy hadn’t anticipated how hard it was going to be until he’d already opened the shared closet, and for a moment it was just that; orienting himself to pick through half military uniforms, half dresses- but then suddenly, he was being stared in the face by too much that he didn’t want to ever think about. Uniforms Maes hadn’t worn in months, golden stars and brass buttons dull and dusty. Hideous eyesores of civilian clothes that were even worse, hanging near the back as if half-forgotten and abandoned but so strikingly _familiar_ it hit like a punch to the gut.

Hideous eyesores of garish colors and tacky designs that all _screamed_ Maes Hughes. Things that had made Roy want to vomit since day one, but despite his visceral, visual objection to them a small part of him had always loved them, for all their tacky garishness precisely _because_ it was just who Maes was.

Now, dusty and forgotten, and _his fault,_ it made him almost sick to look at them.

Roy grabbed something at sheer random and slammed the door shut behind him, fighting back his foul mood with all the brute force of a club. He was angry and upset, but at himself, and he’d sooner throw himself onto a bed of lit coals before he took this out on Gracia. He silenced his both his distress and his nausea, planting himself as firmly as he could in front of the mirror to get dressed and straighten his hair out for her. He was still a mess, but, Roy thought, glaring, a put together mess now, wearing one of Maes’ less unreasonably offensive shirts even if the cuffs hung past his knuckles, and with his hair tamed just enough to hide his dark eyes.

He _was_ still a mess. But he could hide it, for Gracia. He had no right to burden this family with more of his own troubles. He’d done enough to them this day alone, and was very, very determined to ensure he didn’t dare trouble them with a single thing more.

Maes would kill him if he did, the second he was well enough to do it. And Roy would hold his hands up in surrender and load the gun for him.

* * *

At long last, Roy finally dragged himself out from the bedroom to face the rest of the day. Half a steady, strong march, put together enough to reassure the world; half a withdrawn, uncertain stagger as he nervously crept forward, a part of him praying to find that Gracia and Elicia had already left and he wouldn’t have to face them.

These hopes were doomed to be unrequited, of course; upon stepping towards the kitchen, he was greeted with the sight of both mother and daughter, Elicia up on her tiptoes and reaching for the table while Gracia carefully braided her hair. At the sound of his footsteps, both looked towards him, Elicia excited, Gracia smiling, fingers still in her hair, and Elicia beamed at him.

“‘ello, Unca Roy!” she called, around half a muffin, little cheeks stuffed full, then coughed and swallowed hard with a visible effort. “I saved some for you!”

She had. The table, besides bearing the remains of one messy breakfast, had a small stack of waiting pancakes beside a waiting, empty glass, and there were a few muffins left that had survived Elicia’s rapid scavenging. It looked like a lot of very hard work, on Gracia’s part, and that alone was enough to bury another needle of guilt in his stomach.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, sweetheart,” Gracia chastised gently, tying off the end of her braid, then turned Elicia around with her hands on her shoulders. “Go put your coat on, okay? Uncle Roy will still be here when you get back tonight, so you’ll see him again very soon.”

Elicia nodded as she pulled away from the table, muffin still in the hand that waved a distracted goodbye to him, leaving the two of them alone once again. Roy glanced to Gracia the moment her daughter was out of earshot, eyebrow raised. “I’ll still be here tonight?”

“Yes, you will,” she said simply, with the tone of an order. Gracia examined him closely, looking at his new appearance, and gave her approval with another quick nod and a smile. “I’ll be back soon. Eat as much as you can stomach right now- and then, when I come back, I expect to see you nowhere other than that couch or back in bed, Roy.” She nodded to him again, still smiling, always smiling to him- and then, before he’d even gotten the chance to try and protest or question her, probably because she’d known that was coming, she was gone, moving after her daughter to leave him standing alone in her kitchen.

Roy sighed again, running a still unsteady hand through his hair. His stomach twisted again the wake of the silence after the sound of the shutting of the door, leaving him alone as an intruder onto what would’ve once been the standard Hughes Sunday morning.

He still felt as if he didn’t belong.

He still felt _wrong._

* * *

Roy did what he did best, and erased all the evidence of his weight on this poor family that he could.

He washed the dishes, because he was not an _ingrate,_ and sick or not he was not about to stand around and let Gracia wait on him hand and foot. The fact that this also would keep her from seeing how much he had- or, more properly, hadn’t- eaten, was neither here nor there. He hunted down the rest of his uniform and was relieved to find his satchel resting next to his boots, with the files he’d been working on in Maes’ room last night inside; something for him to do, because sitting idle was simply indefensible and intolerable.

Even as much rest as he’d gotten today made him feel uneasy... Hawkeye at the office, taking up the slack for all of his ineptitude- god. Inexcusable. _Inexcusable._ Just to sit here and kick his feet up, like he deserved the luxury of a day off... Roy almost laughed to himself, scrubbing a hand over his face as he sunk onto the couch with the files in his lap. He wouldn’t have even known what to do with himself on with a day off anymore. Once upon a time, it would’ve been reserved for a good book and a date with his couch, catching up on most precious sleep- or, if he was most lucky, a quiet visit to Maes and Gracia, to feel awake and alive and _loved,_ and...

Roy swallowed tightly, curling his legs a little tighter underneath himself, and fought very hard to not feel the tight knot in his chest.

Well, he hadn’t allowed himself such a rendezvous in a quite a while. He was pretty sure he didn’t deserve it, either.

He and Gracia had held an unspoken agreement that they weren’t going to do anything, not until Maes was out of the hospital and well enough to be there with them. Neither of them felt comfortable enough with it, and Roy never would’ve been able to be anything but sick at the thought of being with Maes’ wife while Maes was in the _hospital,_ half-dead and clinging to life by a thread.

Because of _him_.

Roy buried his face in his hands again, a ragged gasp tearing its way out of his throat as he fought to get himself and his thoughts back under control. _No,_ damn it. He could not do this here. Not when he was intruding in on Gracia’s home like this. Not when she had so much to deal with already, not when her husband was still so sick and hurt, not when his attacker was still fucking out there. He _couldn’t._ He...

Roy wrenched himself to his feet with a burst of nauseated, sickened panic, gasping through clenched teeth and fighting with his pathetic self for control. He couldn’t be this. He couldn’t do this to Gracia. Breathing hard, Roy glared steadily around the room, fighting for calm- but only found his heart skipping a beat at the sight that waited him. Pictures, of course, pictures everywhere- because this was Maes’ home, where Maes belonged, and he didn’t. They stared at him, all dozens of them of a smiling, picture perfect family, and suddenly all of them were too close around him, staring and accusing in a way that burned down to his soul.

He was the one who’d broken that. He’d involved Maes in this- this impossible, ridiculous, hare-brained, _dangerous_ scheme, he’d gotten Maes to clean up his messes behind his back, he’d dragged him right into this and Maes had been calling _him_ as he’d been shot. He’d heard the god dammed bastard dying on the phone with him, and hadn’t even _known_ it. Just picked up the phone and been greeted with nothing but silence, because Maes had been dying and still trying to call him, Roy had put it up to a technical error at the time, the call just not being connected correctly, somehow completely and utterly blind to the fact he’d been listening to someone he loved with his whole heart bleeding out and he _would have_ died if Roy hadn’t just absentmindedly put in a call to Alex, asking him to check in, and- _god..._

And it had been months since that night, now, hadn’t it, _months,_ and some days Roy was still convinced Maes was dying. Oh, the doctors promised he was healing. They looked at Maes, every day in that hospital bed, when he could still struggle to stand and when he winced to laugh, and they smiled and just took it all in stride. They all said he was recovering, and now there was even finally starting to be talk about him coming him home- but none of that mattered to Roy. Not when he hadn’t slept through the night in weeks, and every day that he spent at the hospital was a reminder him of his failure, because what the _fuck_ use was Maes’ oath to support him worth if he got _slaughtered_ doing it, and what the _fuck_ use was being Fuhrer if he couldn’t even protect one of those who was going to get him there.

And _fuck all of this,_ because Roy could not stand here right now, surrounded by pictures of his best friend’s smiling family, and bear this any longer.

* * *

When Gracia came back, a scant half an hour after she’d left, it was to Roy sitting stiffly in the kitchen, his back to every picture in the room, and to a maze of files spread out before him.

He’d heard her come in, vaguely, somewhere in the back of his mind, but somehow felt as tired and drained as he had the night before, like the clear-mindedness he’d woken up with had been only a temporary respite that had now shattered into the fervor that was slowly consuming him. He mumbled out a greeting of some kind when he heard her footsteps stop behind him, a few tired words he couldn’t even discern, and turned another quick page in the file before him.

“I thought I told you,” Gracia said quietly, “that you should be on the couch or in bed. I’m also pretty sure there was a strong implication that you should _not_ be working..”

“Sorry,” he murmured distractedly, flipping through another page again, searching for the notes he’d made the night before. “But you know me. I’m only able to follow direct orders- not indirectly implied ones.”

_“Roy.”_

She was not pleased. He’d have felt guiltier, if he’d ever assumed he would’ve been good for her in the first place. “Sorry,” he said again, not even meaning it about this, meaning it too much about everything else he couldn’t say. “Sorry, I just-“ With a frustrated sigh, Roy _smacked_ the map flat with a file and a textbook, glowering at it venomously. “Sorry- Maes, he says all he can remember is a map, and a circle. I’ve been looking at a map of Central for a while, and I think I’ve got something- these buildings here, here, and here, if you connect them they make-“

“Roy Mustang, I am not going to stand here and watch you continue to work yourself to death on my watch, and that is _not_ why I brought you here. And I swear upon my husband’s life that if you do not put those away, I will _shred them._ ”

“But I just- Gracia, look, don’t you think that makes a circle if you just-“

“That was your last chance, Roy,” she interjected smoothly, and without waiting a moment longer, Gracia Hughes stepped forward, lifted the wrinkled map out of his hands, and tore it cleanly in two.

It took Roy several tired seconds for him to even grasp what had happened.

When it finally did hit him, he gaped.

“I warned you,” was all Gracia said, proceeding to neatly tear the remaining pieces over and over again, ripping them into they were all but obliterated. Each shredded piece of his work, of what Maes had almost died for, of what Roy had spent _months_ fixing together, felt like she was tearing straight through his already well chewed up and mangled heart.

“Y-you-“ he stammered, caught between shock and a horrid, blind rage. “What- Gracia, are you out of your mind?! Stop! You’re- that’s Maes’-“

“Don’t sit there and pretend like you don’t have all of this already committed to memory, Roy,” she snapped at him, eyes flashing. “And I told you, you’re not going to work on these anymore- not when you’re in my house. That was one of the reasons Maes and I decided to take you here instead of just leaving you for the hospital to deal with.”

Roy blinked fiercely, the circles that had dominated his mind for days swimming before his eyes in a nauseating storm. She was right. She was always right. He remembered his preliminary sketches perfectly, but to have them robbed away like this- his hands already itched to draw them out again, burn them into paper before the slightest detail slipped from his mind. He swallowed hard instead, wrenching his mind straight into the present and the fierce, demanding, hurt woman sitting across from him, reminding himself that he could not fix Maes’ injury by slighting his wife, and forced himself to calm.

“Sorry,” he gritted out, almost shaken. “I’m... being a rude guest. I apologize.”

Gracia frowned at him a second longer, then just sighed, face softening and eyes paling with distress. “You’re not a guest here,” she corrected, taking one of his larger hands in both of hers. He could feel the cold of her wedding ring sting against his knuckle, and he swallowed tightly again, his own hands suddenly acutely empty and bare. “And you washed my dishes. That’s not rude. It takes an act of god to get Maes to wash dishes.”

If he hadn’t already been in a disaster of a mood, the mere mention of Maes would’ve done it. Roy swallowed his frown, schooling his face appropriately into a weak sort of grin, but his insides twisted and his stomach sank with a leaden ball. He knew she was right, just after their time in the Academy together. Maes was a barely contained slob while Roy was a nearly compulsive neat freak, but he also knew she would’ve chosen Maes’ unbelievable messes before having him as a live-in maid any day, and he didn’t mind. That was how it was _supposed_ to be. Maes had Gracia, and while he was unbelievably lucky enough that they both loved him as well and welcomed him here, he’d always felt almost like a criminal, as an intruder into their marriage, and it felt even worse now that he was here and Maes wasn’t...

_It’s your fault..._

“You know, it _is_ rude to sit here in my house and brood in front of me.” Smiling, Gracia used her hold on him to drag him upright, since he was upset but not upset enough to fight back against a lady. “Now, want to tell me what happened last night? Or do you want to continue to sulk worse than Elicia than I put her in timeout?”

Still limp and somewhat put out, Roy allowed himself to be led out of the kitchen, his files left behind. His face warmed at the words and he found himself suddenly able to quite swallow back an embarrassed smile. “I’m not whether sure to be offended at the insinuation that I sulk, or that I sulk worse than Elicia.”

“Neither, Roy- just smile more. And answer the question.”

His face warmed again and he ducked his head, trying to hide his smile this time. “You... sound like Maes, now,” he said waveringly, chest tight but smile genuine, and found himself allowing Gracia to lead him right back out to the couch that he’d already left once today. If he kept his eyes down, off the almost oppressive pictures, then he wouldn’t have to face them. “No, I... I apologize, Gracia, really. I don’t remember too much about yesterday, but I’m sure I didn’t intend to impose like this.” He shook his head regretfully, inwardly cursing his own behavior. “I was at the hospital, with Maes, but he wasn’t awake. I... I don’t _think_ I was sick. I remember just putting my head down for a couple moments- certainly not passing out!” Passing out was ridiculous! Passing out was for the faint-hearted, for a damsel in distress to swoon into her husband’s arms- not military officers, for god’s sake!

Gracia paused, and the gaze she leveled on him then he’d bet had been learned straight from Maes in interrogation- or perhaps, he’d learned it from her. “When was the last time you ate something, Roy?”

He shrugged dispassionately, already pretty sure where this was going. “Picked up something on my way to the hospital last night.”

“Really? That’s odd, because Lieutenant Hawkeye said she took you straight to the hospital last night. No stops on the way.”

Roy’s smile twitched, and his forehead pulsed in annoyance.

Right. _Straight_ from Maes in interrogation.

She’d mentioned having contact with Hawkeye before, hadn’t she? Hadn’t she mentioned that? He should’ve known Riza and Gracia had been talking behind his back, conspiring like this. He also probably should’ve known better than to try and outwit Gracia when he was this tired and stressed, but if his options were this, and admitting defeat, well... “I’m sorry, I... meant the night before. I suppose my mind is still a little scrambled-“

“So, you’re now _trying_ to tell me you haven’t eaten a thing in a day and a half? And for some reason, you think that is a good thing?”

Roy blinked again, smile slipping and stomach dropping.

He had...

Walked right into that one.

“Well...” he muttered, almost slack-jawed, then swallowed a curse. Ultimately, it was actually worse than what she was saying- he hadn’t eaten a thing since Hawkeye had driven him to work on Friday morning, and hauled him over to a café on the way and all but forcing a breakfast sandwich into his hands... but that didn’t matter to Gracia, because she’d gotten close enough to the truth to browbeat him over the head with it.

It really wasn’t that bad, though- even if he could understand why she was so concerned. Skipped meals were par for course, in the military, and he’d been guzzling enough coffee to take down a horse- that had to count for something. And it wasn’t as if he was doing it on purpose. He was so busy with his usual workload and Hughes’ case, and with all the stress he found himself nauseous more often than not- it wasn’t that he didn’t want to eat, he just usually couldn’t stomach it. But he really was doing fine... _just..._

“I see I’ll need to give the lieutenant my thanks. Looks as if she was right.”

Roy winced as he looked at Gracia out of the corner of his eye, face warming again as he curled his legs underneath himself again. “It’s not like that, Gracia. I’m taking care of myself fine- I’m not a child.”

She smiled quietly again, eyes still sharp with that same light so reminiscent of Maes, whenever there was some bit of information he wanted to get at and wasn’t going to let him go until he had it. “That’s right; children usually take every opportunity to eat. It’s easier to take care of a child.”

“You do _not_ need to take care of me,” he shot back, hands tightening against the couch as he jerked away from Gracia’s arm. “Yes, I’ve been working hard lately, and I suppose I might have overdid it yesterday, but I am _fine.”_

“Overdid it just yesterday?” she interrupted, leaning a little closer. “Maes seems to remember you falling asleep in his room just last week.”

“That’s-!” His face flushing again, Roy started to try and pull away to stand before Gracia’s hand latched onto his, holding him down on the couch and refusing to let him retreat away from her. “No- that’s different, Gracia- I got a migraine, I couldn’t drive myself home, that’s...” _Damn..._ Roy buried his face in his hands again, groaning deeply and cursing his own horrid luck. Once again, he was only telling the truth, and once again, that didn’t change the fact that the truth made him look terrible.

The week before, he’d been at the hospital, as usual; he hadn’t let himself miss a day’s visit since Maes had been admitted. He’d had a bad headache on the drive over from work, but hadn’t realized until it was too late, and he was already sitting in his best friend’s room, that it was escalating into a roaring migraine and he wouldn’t have the strength to make it to the elevators, never mind all the way home- it had taken everything that he’d had to not throw up right in Maes’ room. It had been an agonized moment of weakness that had allowed Maes to get his way, his best friend carefully maneuvering him to lie down beside him in a bed that was already too small, and he’d hated himself for missing the way he’d fit so easily into Maes’ arms but had just been in too much pain to smack some sense into him. His head had _hurt,_ and Maes warm presence beside him had been the most comfort he’d allowed himself in months, and- oh, god, did he mention how much his head had _hurt?_

It had been a night of bad judgment and even worse luck, but that did _not_ mean it proved Gracia’s point, damn it.

“That’s just a moment of really bad luck,” Roy sighed at last, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “I promise. It’s not as if I’m making a habit of it.”

Her eyes were softer this time as she sat a little closer to him, the hand on his arm not quite as demanding. She was almost too close, like that, the warmth and genuine love in her eyes, and once again, Roy found himself having to look away. “And I want to believe you, Roy. But I also know that’s the third migraine I’ve found out about since my husband was shot.”

“That’s-“

... _perfectly true._

Gracia’s eyes softened when his declaration died into nothing, and before he knew it she’d wrapped her arms around him, head leaning against his arm with her rubbing carefully against his, massaging into the tense, coiled muscles. “Maes is worried, and so am I. You’re only getting sick because you’re stressing yourself so badly, Roy, and I don’t know how you got it into your head that what I need right now is _another_ person that I love in the hospital- but you need to stop. _Please._ If not because you can accept that it’s bad for you, at least because it’s hurting us.”

Roy’s breath caught again in his throat, guilt tightening like a noose. The pictures again stared at him, surrounded by the family he’d almost destroyed... the family _he_ was a part of... somehow. He been oblivious, apparently, to how obvious he was being, and certainly hadn’t intended it- for them to realize, and _especially_ for them to worry. He swallowed as he wrapped his arm carefully back around her shoulder, holding her gently to his side as he tried to gently soothe some of the distress out of her. The apology was already heavy on his tongue and bitter in his mouth.

“I’m... sorry.”

Gracia looked up at him, and there weren’t tears in her eyes, but Roy didn’t think he was imagining the way he could almost hear them on her voice. “Are you apologizing for Maes being in the hospital, or for working yourself to death trying to find who put him there?”

“...Both, I suppose.”

“Then, don’t.” She leaned her head back against his shoulder, arms wrapping back around him. “What happened isn’t your fault. I don’t blame you, Maes doesn’t blame you- and even if you can somehow construe it to be all your fault, we both _love_ you, Roy. We’d forgive you for it, because we know you never wanted this and you’re doing everything you can to make it better.” A warm hand met his face again, cupping against his cheek to make him look at her; the piercing heat of the worry in her eyes almost took his breath away. “You don’t have to visit Maes every single day, and he doesn’t want you to visit at all if you’re just going to use it to beat yourself over the head with guilt. You don’t have to kill yourself trying to find this person, and you know, Roy? Maes and I would rather you _didn’t,_ if the cost would be you making yourself sick and miserable because you can’t tolerate letting yourself rest for even a single day. You-“

“They’re not even _looking_ for him, Gracia!” Roy cried, and suddenly he was on his feet even though he didn’t remember ever wanting to stand or even having the energy to rip free of her arms. “The military doesn’t even care! They threw his file in the trash a week after it happened, told us it was a random _mugging_ by a _kid_ and that it was done... a mugging, Gracia!” He turned frantically away, covering his mouth with one hand and squeezing his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to see Maes beaming at him from any one of the dozen pictures around the room. “His wallet wasn’t even touched! He was bleeding before he even left HQ! A _mugging?!_ God- his team and mine had to set up a security detail in our free time because the military seems to think they can just sweep this under the rug- if I don’t find this person, _no one_ will! They-!”

Anger bloomed in his chest and he sucked in another breath through clenched teeth, cutting himself off before his voice could break. The meetings and files swam before his eyes again, the facts burned into his mind after so many weeks reading them every night to find the detail he’d missed, the murderer still running free. The injustice of it all, the crushing grief and terror that morphed day by day into an unbearable, red-hot rage, one that sickened and destroyed him every time he saw Maes in pain or those horrible scars over his heart...

Every day that went unanswered for, was one that he couldn’t bear.

“Roy,” Gracia said quietly from behind him, and he didn’t know whether to flinch or collapse, when her arms went around him again.

It was forgiveness that he didn’t deserve, and love he’d never earned.

“We know you’re going to find who did this,” she told him quietly. “We know you’re going to be there for both of us through all of this, and we can never thank you enough for that.” This time, cheek pressed to his stiff, trembling back, she didn’t force him back down to the couch but just stood with them there in the middle of her living room, and he didn’t hear the tears on her voice this time- but, his heart dropped to realize he _could_ feel them, slowly soaking through his, Maes’, shirt. “We just don’t want to have to pick up the pieces when you’re done.”

* * *

“...Hey.”

_“Oh, good morning, Roy! Did you sleep well~”_

“...I know you planned all of this. I’m not appreciative.”

_“I know you’re not. You’re Roy Mustang. It’s categorically impossible for you to feel appreciative when someone does you a favor. In fact, I think you feel societally obligated to always respond like an asshole.”_

“...Yes. Well. Anyway. I’m on lockdown, as I’m sure you know. She’s letting me have five minutes for this call, then is making me lunch, and then apparently forcing me to take an afternoon nap. A nap, Maes. Like I’m five.”

_“Oh, my poor baby! That sounds so tragically difficult for you; I’m sending virtual hugs through the phone lines right now! Excuse me, while I quietly weep my sympathies for you; I can not imagine how you will ever cope with such awful, neglectful treatment, my dear-”_

“Don’t _call_ me that, you insufferable-! Gah...” Roy groaned, kneading his forehead with his fingertips. “Sorry. I know you’d probably kill to be coddled by Gracia right now.”

_“Ah, I’ll get my chance.”_

“...”

“...”

“I... am sorry, though, Maes. Really. I didn’t mean to scare you last night, or upset Gracia. I didn’t want to hurt either of you through this.”

_“It’s all right. I know you didn’t. We forgive it, as long as now that you realize, you make an effort not to do it again.”_

“I won’t, I-“

_“That means you stop doing it. It doesn’t mean you start hiding it.”_

And for one the first times all day, Roy found himself fighting back a truly genuine smile. “...Understood.” He hesitated for a moment, fingers winding together nervously in his lap. “Thank you for letting me borrow your shirt. I’m wearing the blue one with the orange flowers, and I’m only somewhat nauseated.”

_“It is such a tragedy that you can not appreciate good taste when you see it.”_

“I’d argue the tragedy is that you were born color-blind, but agree to disagree.” He hesitated, glancing over to his blanket-covered shoulders to where Gracia was already busy in the kitchen. “Your wife’s a slavedriver, you know. Apparently, Hawkeye’s going to be sending me home at five every day this week and hiding your case file from me, and Gracia enlisted some of her nurse friends to ban me from the hospital premises.”

Maes laughed, and even over the awful static of the phone lines, somehow that sound managed to go in and ease the weight on his heart. _“Just for a week, buddy. I think you’ll live. As for myself, well, I don’t know, it’ll be close- but my heart SHOULD be able to take it-“_

“Oh, _shut up.”_

Maes laughed quietly again, and Roy could hear the warm smile on his voice. _“Get some sleep, Roy. We love you, but we love you a little less when you’re acting like a cranky five year old who’s past his naptime because you’ve forgotten there’s a world around you that isn’t work. I don’t want to see you until you’ve managed to stop looking like a walking corpse, Roy, so don’t bother coming back here until you do.”_

“...ignoring the insult... I, very reluctantly, will do so. You should also endeavor to follow your own advice.”

 _“Yes, sir.”_ There was a big, wet, kiss noise, barely even recognizable over the phone, then, “Give that to Gracia for me, and I’ll see you next week.”

Roy bit back a laugh, knowing it was just as much for him as it was his wife. “Don’t tempt me,” he growled, and then found himself having to tolerate Maes making kissy noises at him until he hung up the phone.


End file.
